


Salty-Sweet

by shunnedfreak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Making Up, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Office Sex, Older Characters, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shunnedfreak/pseuds/shunnedfreak
Summary: Harry's spending another interminable, agonizing, late night at his office.His husband, Draco, decides to pay him an eye-opening visit.
Relationships: Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 298





	Salty-Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter is not mine. If it was, Drarry would be endgame and I wouldn't have to learn how to write to satisfy my cravings.
> 
> Comments, kudos and suggestions are equally loved.
> 
> Shoutout to my close friend for helping me decide on the title!

The ornate grandfather clock has long since tolled its midnight bell. The scratching sounds from his eagle quill is deafening in the silent office. His desk lamp is too dim, forcing Harry to squint－ helping his headache not one bit; he makes no move to improve it. Or take a break. 

Just a little more and he can leave for the day.

The fates, however, have other plans, for as he's putting down the finishing touches, his shaky hand slips, smudging the drying ink of the last few lines he has written. Harry lets out a low curse, gripping his quill in sudden anger. The surge in his emotions causes a burst of pain behind his eye. In his inattention, the scroll he's writing on rolls up, smudging the words beyond salvation. He can practically feel his teeth chip as he grinds them viciously together.

Then just like that, the wave of anger goes just as fast as it came, leaving Harry feeling even more exhausted than before. 

He's so tired. The hours slip and slide into each other becoming just one long stream of exhaustion and work. He can't remember the last time he ate, or the last time he went home before dark. _Godric_ , he can't even recall if he went home more than twice this past week, choosing instead to sleep in his office and make use of the en suite bathroom. 

Harry rises－ joints creaking just as much as his chair does－ and paces to the floor-length windows he has. The view is spectacular, the city lights twinkling at him. At this height everything looks beautiful, more so when rubbing at his gritty eyes pushes his glasses askew, blurring the lights into rainbows. He thinks of going home. Of taking a long bath and soothing his permanently tight shoulders. Maybe eating something －even reheated － away from his desk and not from some shitty diner, for once not hurrying or engrossed in reading some document or the other. He could even call in sick tomorrow － or later, with how late it already is － and just take time for himself...and his husband. 

A husband he doesn't think he's had dinner within a month, much less seen in days. There's a cold pit in his stomach, growing as he thinks about how his day - his month, his year, his life - is just a series of revolving meetings, and cases and work, and even more work. Is this how it is now? How did he get here? He'd been so obsessed with excelling in his work, that he neglected everything else. It's like waking up and realizing you are being smothered by blankets and one too many pillows, finding it hard to breathe. Harry's suddenly becoming aware that he's been letting life steer him rather than the other way around. His heart beats anxiously, like he's missing something, or about to miss it. He rubs his hands together to assuage the feeling. It doesn't help.

He's so deep in thought that he barely notices the first, soft knocks, startling when they grow more insistent. He turns just as his office doors revealing his husband and for a moment, Harry thinks he's hallucinating. Think of his husband and there he is. Like a prayer, answered. 

"Draco. Why are you here?"

His husband is in a soft cream coloured cable-knit sweater and dark denim pants, a sharp contrast to Harry's formal Auror robes. It's strange to see him dressed so casually as opposed to Harry. Draco's usually impeccably turned out, preferring to dress in well-cut robes and sharp suits, with Harry being the near-complete opposite, wearing worn-in outfits as much as he can get away with. Draco's clothes, however, do nothing to soften the censure of a pale, raised eyebrow. 

"I figured I'd stop by to see you. Is that not permitted now?" Draco replies, still against the door. 

Harry quirks his lips. The air between them feels muggy. The aftermath of Harry's earlier unexpected burst of unease was not helping matters. 

"Right. I just wasn't expecting you, is all. Here, come sit." 

He finally steps over to his desk, immediately conscious of the rolls of parchment and files eating up his desk. For some reason, the mountain of documents on the guest chair looks especially incriminating. With no visible place to put them, Harry flicks his wand sending the files flying to the corner of the room, stacking themselves to an obscene height. 

Draco slowly ambles over, taking something out of the leather bag he carries. He flicks his wrist in a familiar elegant movement releasing his wand from its holster, one that Harry remembers gifting Draco on their fifth anniversary. The blond taps on the shrunken item which expands into a wicker basket, worn at the edges, with an equally weathered plaid cloth covering the top. Both items bring back memories of days long past. 

Harry watches in nigh awkwardness as Draco expertly brings out plates of food wrapped in a preservation charm. There are fish and chips, Shepherd's pie, treacle tart and a bottle of wine. That done, Draco flicks him a look bidding him take a seat. 

Draco settles himself in the guest chair, the wide polished mahogany of Harry's desk behaves like a chasm between them. The clinking of utensils as Draco serves them their dinner is the only sound between them. Somehow the silence grates on Harry's nerves. He remembers, there was a time where they could sit beside each other, quiet yet comfortable, absorbed in their various hobbies. Not a word needed between them to know the other was welcome. He used to think it was the height of intimacy, not requiring a distraction to be together. Now, Harry fairly squirms in his ergonomically _spelled_ chair, wondering when he started feeling the need to stand at attention in the presence of his husband. 

Wordlessly, Draco pushes a plate filled with food towards him, pale eyes settling heavily on Harry's shoulders; expectant.

Harry takes a bite. 

Salty. 

And incongruously, spicy. Familiar.

"You cooked?" Harry questions with a little incredulity. Draco, in all their years of marriage only mastered a couple of dishes and generally hates cooking, claiming that it was messy and _imprecise just not as challenging as potions, Harry_. It's been some time since he cooked. 

Draco gives a wry smile, eyes downcast. "No need to sound so shocked," Draco snags a chip between the tines of his fork, making no move to eat it. "I figured we could use a little reminder. Don't you think?" 

Harry nods, mouth dry, "Yea- yes, I do."

He does recall. 

When they first got together, they were already fucking for over a year. Not constantly, those first few months, but regularly enough to be of significance. 

The first time had been a drunken, angry mistake, leaving the pair of them avoiding eye contact for weeks. Which was bloody fantastic, if not for Harry being an Auror and Draco a Junior researcher, whose job was to develop spells and gadgets used primarily by the MLE. It was inevitable that their paths crossed. And cross paths they did. They may have been intoxicated, fairly spitting in aggression when they fucked, but neither of them could deny how good it was. How much their blood burned with every bite and every thrust. How insatiable they were, kissing and sucking until they were both dry and exhausted; heads spinning worse than any bottle if Ogden's finest could ever accomplish. There was also the fact no word had got out about their encounter, the _Prophet_ was silent and none of their families and friends questioned their sanity and choices in the days that followed. It was safe to say any further liaison would remain secret, both of them having reasons of their own in desiring privacy. Even better, however, was their history. Knowing unsavoury things about a partner meant neither of them had an image to uphold. They could be free with each other and indulge in whatever they wanted. They could have sex, trying out acts they always wondered about but was too shy with any other partner to even mention. They could meet up secure in the knowledge that neither of them would divulge details about each other. They could be themselves knowing that they've seen the worst side of their boyhood nemesis, nothing else could phase them. That promised freedom was addicting. 

It only took a single lingering glance beneath pale lashes, a burning touch from a tan hand passing a quill and they were on each other like a Niffler in a Gringott's vault. 

A quarter and a year later, after Draco had stayed three nights in a row without discussion or objection from either of them, Harry had turned to the blond, chest heaving and said succinctly: _we should go out_. Draco, shocked, skin still flushed a delightful pink from sex under the early morning light, composed himself and agreed. 

The morning after that, Draco had cooked him rashers and eggs. He stood only in one of Harry's nightshirt, the hairs of his bare legs glinting gold in the sunlight. He looked like a vision, then. When Harry had declared the food salty, after being prompted, in his typical dramatic fashion Draco had turned his nose up saying, "See if I ever cook for you again, Potter." But he did. Repeatedly －with no discernible improvement in his skills, mind－ for every anniversary, the birth of their children and all the special events they ever had. Draco had confessed years later, that it was how his parents showed affection with each other and he'd always wanted to find someone he could share that with. With words like that, it wasn't hard for Harry to start associating Draco's salty cooking with the good things in their life. 

Twenty-five great years together, marked by his husband's food. 

So yes Harry did remember. Eating Draco's salty-spicy meal made something loosen in Harry's chest, his hand absurdly shaking as he took another bite of his food. It reads like a second chance he didn't know he needed. He intends to eat until it's all gone. 

Harry, starts to notice how silent Draco is. He's a chatterbox at the best of times. Going on and on about things he likes, how his day went, the new toys his department has perfected and _don't forget the children are sleeping over at their cousins, do you want to do something together as well?_ And much more. To break the quiet Harry inquires about their said children. If there was one thing Draco utterly cared about, it was them.

"Any word about the boys? Scorpius is the only one who calls regularly and even he only hurriedly said they were fine, having fun and nothing else informative in his last Floo."

As expected, the topic of their children rouses Draco a little, a minuscule dimple on the left side of his cheek making an appearance. "You remember what it is like, being young. I bet if we had the opportunity when we were their age, we would have galvanized around the world as well, with no thoughts of checking in on our family regularly." Draco fiddles with the stem of his wine glass, twisting it round and round, watching as the liquid swirls gently. "Teddy did say they would be back just in time for Lily's graduation, so we should expect them in a couple of weeks or so."

Scorpius, Al, and James had gotten into their heads that they wanted to travel and see the world before they played at being "proper adults", by their words. They'd been gone little more than a month and so far, had been to so many countries it was hard to keep track. Last Harry had heard, the boys had met up with Teddy in the wilds of Brazil assisting －or their chaotic version of it － in his Godson's curse-breaking. Lily was put out, sulking for weeks on end, that she couldn't join them on the account that she still had school to attend. Only the suggestion from her cousin Rose－ his best friends, Hermione and Ron's eldest child－ that they too take a trip once they graduated from _Hogwart's_ had mollified her.

"I would have told you this, had you been available to talk to, this past －Oh, I don't know－ year."

Harry's stomach swoops. The pie he'd just been consuming turns bland and impossibly dry in his mouth. 

Draco's face is half in shadow by the meagre light of Harry's desk lamp. He looks severe, the light falling on the laugh lines around his eyes, catching on the sprinkling of grey hair among his fair locks. 

Harry wants to speak and explain, but he doesn't even know how to begin. He wants to say that time got away from him. That one cancelled appointment, a pushed back outing between them turned into another and another and even another without Harry noticing. But it was not his intention. That one moment he was snuggling bedside Draco in their couch by the fire, drinking tea and sneaking kisses watching as their children rough-housed before them, then the next, Harry's blinking awake groggy after sleeping only three hours on a springy couch, parallel to theirs, not recalling when he last shared a meal with his husband. 

There was no fight, no upset. Slowly drifting away from each other with nary a bang but a whimper. It was coming home to a sleeping husband and leaving before the other woke up. It was communicating via a slowly dwindling frequency of notes, in lieu of talking to each other. It was a whole creeping _nothing_ but suddenly opening one's eyes and finding out his husband was slowly becoming someone unfamiliar to him. 

How do you tell him that you'd taken for granted that his love, neglecting to reciprocate? How do you tell your husband that for a long time, you just have not been putting much effort into the relationship as much as you should? How do you say, that lately, you just haven't found the time to put forth said effort? Worst of all, how do you say that you have been remiss in being a husband and that it was only now that you realized what you've been wasting? 

Harry has no words. He loves his husband, he does. But now confronted with his failings in their relationship, Draco may have concluded that he does not. The earlier feelings of misgivings and racing heart comes back. The food sits too heavily in his stomach and makes Harry plant both feet flat on the ground. 

He thas his gaze trained on his clenched hands upon the tabletop, as a result, he fairly jumps when Draco suddenly slams his palms down, rattling the dishes. 

Harry's head snaps up to find Draco rounding the absurdly wide table, expression fierce and angry.

"Wha－?" Draco presses him back into his chair, cutting off his question. His husband slams his mouth on Harry's, aggressively kissing him. He's too shaken to kiss back.

"Shut up, Potter." Draco pulls away. Face tight and for a tick, Harry thinks he sees a glimmer of tears in Draco's eyes before he leans in again. This time Harry is ready.

He opens his mouth, welcoming Draco's tongue, sucking and biting back at Draco. Slender fingers dip into Harry's hair tilting his head back, the other closing over his throat, squeezing a little as Harry swallows. The same hand travels down pressing against Harry's chest, deftly undoing the golden buttons running down Harry's auburn uniform. His skin feels tender, driving home that Harry hasn't been or has touched anyone, especially Draco, in a long time. Harry sets out to rectify that, aiming to bury his hands on the soft material of Draco's sweater, when the blond sinks down.

Harry's eyes snap open, watching as Draco with trembling fingers, rubs at the growing tent through Harry's slacks. Harry hasn't even noticed he's hard－ too focused on kissing Draco; his husband's hand feels divine, the sensation almost overwhelming Harry. 

"Thank Merlin," Draco breathes, confusingly so. Before Harry can ask for clarification, Draco obliges, even as he makes quick work in opening Harry's trousers. "I was afraid you wouldn't be hard. I thought you didn't want me. That you were bored with me." The blond gives Harry no chance to answer before he succeeds in taking Harry out and swallowing him down. 

During sex, Harry, more often than not, took his time. Before Draco, he didn't have the opportunity or was comfortable enough to indulge with his previous partners. But with his husband, it had changed. He was able and loved to explore Draco's body, kissing and caressing every bared flesh in his path. He discovered every spot that made Draco weak; each bit of skin that got the blond moaning in appreciation. He relished reducing his husband to putty, making it so that Draco was an incoherent mess before sliding in where Draco was molten hot, loose and perfect. He loved watching Draco fall apart, piece by piece and all Harry's.

Draco was the opposite, he was greedy, demanding and he wanted everything _now_. It's the only thing hearkening to the spoilt brat he was in his younger days. He was always hungry for it, devouring Harry until the latter was losing his mind. There was nothing more arousing than seeing how much Draco desired him.

Kneeling on the plush brown carpet of Harry's office, Draco was just as eager. He licked up the vein on the underside of Harry's cock, hollowing his mouth around the head, dipping his tongue in the slit just the right way to drive Harry wild. He was sloppy, saliva dripping down the hand curled around the rest of Harry's cock as he sought to take him deeper. His blond head bobbed as he sucked and licked and kissed at Harry's rigid cock. Nimble hands rolled Harry's sack briefly, before sliding up his thighs. The pressure they applied on Harry's thighs were grounding, something about it nearly tipping him off the edge. But he needs to stop him. He's too close to losing it. He wants to come with Draco.

Harry groans, gripping Draco's hair, gently pulling him off. He's breathing hard, having to grip the base of his cock at the sight of his husband.

There's a high flush on the apple of his cheeks, lips red and plump, but it's Draco's eyes that has Harry trembling. They are wide, grey-blue as they are in heights of emotion, a shimmer of tears on them that has Harry's heart thudding. This time his heart is racing for a different reason. A much more welcome one.

"I want you, Draco. I always will."

He lifts Draco by his arms, hugging him close. Harry takes a moment to press a soft kiss on Draco's mouth, sucking on the swollen bottom lip, tasting himself as he delves deeper. His hands roam, catching on Draco's sweater which he pulls off. It leaves Draco's fine hair ruffled and Harry can't －won't－ stop the fond squeeze of his heart. He makes short work of divesting Draco of the rest of his clothes, leaving the blond naked and strangely vulnerable.

Harry steps back to admire him, taking in silvery scars on Draco's chest －he gave them to Draco when he didn't know what he came so close to losing－ running his hands down the little bumps they make. Down the soft pouch Draco has built that he hates but Harry secretly loves, away from the neatly trimmed dark blond hair between his thighs. 

He's kissing Draco's arm, the left one still marred by the Dark Mark all these years － his, his, his, Draco is _his_ － when Draco whimpers. 

"Harry." His gaze is imploring, bordering on desperate. They're both hard which Harry's been ignoring, but no longer. 

He wandlessly conjures a piece of cloth, shiny and red, showing it to Draco, then rubbing it gently on the blond's cheek. They're both feeling vulnerable, and this is a little something to set them at ease. Draco needed his mind to slow down, to stop thinking and focus on the moment and sensations around him. Harry wanted all of Draco's focus on him, for Draco to listen with his body to the words Harry can only express through touch. It worked before, it'll work now.

Draco nods closing his eyes. Trusting. It sets Harry alight. If he wasn't hard earlier, he certainly would be now.

He blindfolds Draco, admiring how the red enhances his flush and sets off his pale skin. That done, Draco's stance relaxes, softening just for Harry. He releases a shaky breath as he gently guides Draco to bend over his office desk. 

Small shivers wrack Draco's body and Harry can't resist petting him. His dark hand contrasts prettily against Draco's milky skin. He wants to eat him out. Use his tongue to lick and curl and suck Draco's very centre until the blond comes clenching beautifully. He wants that, but it won't be enough for either of them. Right now, they had to be close, to feel each other's heartbeats, to be as close as humanly possible to remind them both of what they have. So no rimming now, but later...

Harry, instead, slides his hand down the arched slope of Draco's back, hooking a thumb around one of Draco's plump cheek, exposing his, wet furled hole. The sight of which has Harry gasping, biting at his lip to keep calm. He uses two fingers and when both sink in, almost too easily, Harry's almost sure he comes.

"Draco, baby, you're－"

"I needed to be ready, in case－ in case you wanted me." Draco gasps as Harry fucks him with his fingers, unerringly finding that spot that has Draco screaming. 

Draco is already wet and stretched, but Harry can't stop pushing his fingers into him, indulging in the soft give and velvety heat of his. He keeps pressing, pumping in and out, adding a third, a _fourth_ finger and rubbing at that spot until Draco cracks.

"Harry, please, fuck me. I wanna come on your cock. Please Harry, please..." Draco is rising on toes, calves tightening up as he seeks to press closer to Harry and it's beyond what even Harry can take.

A hasty whispered lubrication charm, a bitten off swear and Harry replaces his fingers with his cock. Draco is heated and slick, stretching pink and tight where his body greedily takes Harry in. 

His vision whites out and for a moment Draco's and his moans are muffled in his ears as he struggles to keep calm. _Merlin and Morgana_ , but he missed this. Its been so long, feeling Draco clench hungrily around his engorged cock is slowly unravelling Harry's sanity. 

Harry groans out loud. "Love, I won't last long. You feel so good." And it's true, already that familiar sucking sensation in his groin before he comes is starting.

Draco's pink mouth is open in a gasp, the red cloth around his eyes dampened by tears. "Just fuck me, Harry. Hard. Please."

There's nothing he can do but comply. He sets out a brutal pace, pulling Draco back to his cock with abandon. The blond writhes, spreading his cheek and bracing himself against the table, skin sweaty and slipping every other hard thrust. 

The room fills up with their moans and the obscene slapping of skin, getting louder as each fast approach their climax.

Harry twist, shifting his thrust until he's sure he's hitting just where Draco needs it, bending over until his chest hits Draco's back and he's covering the blonde completely. He noses at Draco's neck, pressing kisses and sucking at any available skin in reach. He slips an arm beneath the blond pulling closer to him, making Draco lose his footing keening, just taking it. Bearing down he thrusts hard once, twice, then Draco's turning his head biting into Harry's outstretched forearm as he shakes into completion. 

Witnessing Draco come, _feeling_ him come elicits a Pavlovian response in Harry. Suddenly he's groaning and fucking in Draco's even more slippery hole. He pulls out, wanking off until the last pearly blobs of his release paint Draco's back and bum. 

They're quiet as they both come down from their high, Harry bracketing Draco's trembling form. Draco absently sucking on Harry's arm that has wandered close. They both need a minute or two. 

Harry immediately rises when he sees goosebumps start to crawl up Draco's back. He sweeps off his Auror robe － they didn't even manage to get him undressed fully－ and wraps Draco in it, guiding the blond over to the fat dark couch in the corner of his office. He arranges them until he's leaning against the couch, with Draco tucked up under his arm. He gently removes the blindfold and vanishes it, waving his hand for a cleaning charm on them both. 

"Thank you."

Harry presses a kiss to Draco's sweet-smelling hair in response. 

They're catching their breaths settling into each other when Draco speaks.

"I thought about giving up."

Harry's heart stops. His hand suddenly gripping Draco even closer. Waiting.

Draco raises a hand to slowly caress at the wiry hair on Harry's chest. It's maddening and reassuring at the same time. Confusing.

"We've been distant with each other for so long, I believed I was in my rights to give up."

"But...?" Merlin, please let there be a _but_.

"But...I've been in love with you for so long. Even when we were snot-nosed brats intent on beating each other into a pulp. I loved you, I still love you. I knew I owed it to you, the children and especially myself, to try again. It just wasn't you who let this marriage down. It takes two to be in a relationship, and I had to do my part."

Harry's voice is choked as he softly whispers Draco's name.

The blond lifts his head. Grey eyes clear and steady. 

"You promised me forever, Potter. I'm holding you to it." 

Harry raises his hand, the gold band matching Draco's, gleaming gently in the low light of the office. He presses soft reverent kisses to Draco's lips, his cheeks, his forehead.

"I did. I'll do better. I love you."

Draco hums. 

"I already submitted a request for a leave of absence. Starting next week, I'll have two weeks off. And when that's done, I was planning on cutting back on my hours. What's the point of being Head Auror of I can't take some time for myself now and then, right? Then...well I was hoping we could take a vacation. Follow the boys' example and experience the world ourselves. Just the two of us. What do you say? "

Throughout Harry's speech, Draco had slowly stiffened, staring at Harry wide-eyed, until the last bit. Now he's clambering into Harry's lap, kissing him tenderly, hands scratching gently at Harry's scalp and shoulders as Harry's hands settle around him.

"Thank you. I'm glad I wasn't the only one thinking about us." Another kiss. "And yes, let's go on that vacation. It will make Lily delightfully jealous." They both pause to give a fond chuckle at the thought of their lively daughter. 

As they press clinging kisses on each other, the robes around Draco slowly fall, revealing lightly freckled shoulders that Harry can't help trailing pecks over. They touch and touch and reacquaint themselves with each other until Draco gently disengages them bidding Harry into summoning the miraculously surviving treacle tart, declaring it too good to waste. 

Everyone has one dish that they can cook perfectly and for Draco, it happens to be treacle tart. He claimed it was because he loved Harry and that he’d put so much effort into perfecting it. He always told Harry to be grateful he cared enough to master it. 

Biting down on the sweet buttery goodness of the tart, in between sharing kisses and secret smiles, Harry is inclined to agree.

~END~

**Author's Note:**

> So if anyone is interested, I just finished school and I'm currently working. I took a year off before going into further training to have time for myself and woth plans to enjoy life (the irony in these times, eh?), so it's just now I'm able to write again.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for all your comments and kudos in my previous fics! They made me smile and my heart flutter.
> 
> Stay safe everyone.


End file.
